Information

Calbeck
Legacy Name: Calbeck

The

Graveyard Neela
Owner:

Saint

Age: 12 years, 5 months, 3 weeks

Born: November 5th, 2011

Adopted: 12 years, 5 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: November 5th, 2011

Pet Spotlight Winner
October 30th, 2012

Statistics

Level: 1
Strength: 10
Defense: 13
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

Born to a somewhat well-off family in Maine in the year 1733, Owen had led a normal, fairly uneventful childhood and adolescence with his younger brother and sister, but it was a short-lived happiness; in the midst of his nineteenth year, on a Sunday at a very inopportune place and time he'd collapsed into the aisle of the church with a seizure. It in itself had done him little harm, but the implications of all that saw seemed to be clear: impurity, and the traces of a deed with the Devil himself.

What with the fright of the shame of a witch's trial looming over the entire family, he was cast from his home in a most unfortunate manner -- the last thing he remembers before waking up bound to the old oak tree was a heavy blow to the head and his father's harsh words still ringing in his ears. Certainly, quietly leaving him to die would prevent the shame and shun of a trial upon the Calbeck family.

It was only with his little sister's help in the way of food and drink that he had lasted more than a week, but not much more; she had been forbidden from seeing him shortly afterward. With little sustenance aside from the rain, he had succumbed to the elements and his own hunger within days still as desperate and terrified as he'd been a week prior.

It was hardly the end for him, however. It felt akin to waking up -- waking up to that biting, now insatiable, hunger in his belly, but somehow different than before. Much to his surprise, he'd turned his head to see his own body beside him. It took him a few moments of staring into his own face to realize what had happened, and his first real thought afterward was simply that of revenge, revenge on the family selfish enough to take his life to better their own image.

They had gotten their witch trial; Owen had made sure of that much with a little mischief here and there. He watched everything from afar: the interrogations, the accusations, and even as his mother and father had been drug out of the house. Much to his own panic, however, he'd also watched as his beloved siblings shared the same fate, which he certainly hadn't meant to extend to them.

His misfortunes had continued still. The lover he had taken, though he had made her aware of his existence after death, forsook him for another to take his place so easily. In his frustration and sadness, he still had neither the heart nor the desire to make her unhappy. It would not be until years after she herself had passed on that he'd so much as show himself again.

Forever bound to the world of the living, he'd spend it up-keeping the home he'd still called his own long after the original occupants had gone. He'd become almost a hoarder in nature, viciously protective of the few possessions he'd had left.

Over two centuries later he's never left his home, and run every would-be occupant out except one. His name was Emeric Faure, and he'd come to be the first person Owen would put his trust in since he had lived. It was somewhat more of a pleasant existence, miserable as he was. At least his misery had found company.